


Part Two: Mickey

by SkewedReality



Series: Fic-A-Day in May Fics 2014 [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, ficadayinmay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:33:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkewedReality/pseuds/SkewedReality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A not so short character study for Mickey leading up to the events of 1x07</p>
<p>*Possible trigger warnings, but nothing that isn't canon.* </p>
<p>Day Three of Fic-A-Day in May</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part Two: Mickey

Mickey was twelve the first time he had a dream about being with another guy. He woke up with sticky sheets and a weight in the pit of his stomach. He pushed the thought as far down as it would go, stole some lesbian porn from a dirty book store, and swore to himself it was a one off thing.

He was still twelve the night his go-to jerk off fantasy accidentally shifted to having a flat chest and strong shoulders hold him down and fuck him until he begged for more. He came harder than he could ever remember and fought the urge to cry himself to sleep while his stomach twisted in disgust.

It became a lot harder to hold on to the whole one off idea when the sweltering Chicago summer brought with it pick up basketball games with his brother's friends and nights with his hand down his shorts imagining their toned, sweaty bodies over him, strong hands gripping his hips as they drove into him from behind. Claiming and owning. 

He'd bite down on his lip to stifle the noises he'd make when he'd cry out his release, arching off the bed with the force of it, and finally give up the ghost. 

He was queer.

And he was a fucking dead man. 

Knowing he was living on borrowed time was oddly liberating. What was the point of worrying about a future when it was only a matter of time before he fucked up and got himself found out? He was fucked for life anyway. 

It wasn't until he was fourteen that he found out that the correct term for what he was was not faggot. (Not that political correctness ever mattered much in the Milkovich house.)

Terry was watching the news and screaming about America going to shit because the fags were trying to take over the country and why do they have to go and flaunt that shit in my face? 

And Mickey stopped and saw the footage of two guys standing on the steps of some courthouse talking about the giant leap forward that was taken for "gay Americans" everywhere, and honest to God, he almost fucking laughed out loud, because what the fuck did they know? 

How the fuck could he ever have anything in common with those rich assholes who had the money to hire an attorney, put themselves in the spotlight, and then profess it as a victory for every fag in these 50 states? Like being able to get a piece of paper saying he was married would take any of the weight off his shoulders. Like that particular "victory" was even a blip on his radar. 

He rolled his eyes and left his dad to drinking and screaming at the television. 

For Mickey's 15th birthday, his brothers paid a girl they knew from school to fuck him. So he threw back a few shots and did. It wasn't hard. He was fifteen and drunk, and it was over in about ten minutes. They both came and apparently she was satisfied because he heard her bragging about him to his brothers. 

Mickey blamed the sick feeling he felt on the whiskey and went to take a shower. At least he'd found a way to keep his secret safe. He could be queer and still fuck girls. Too bad those dudes standing on the courthouse steps hadn't said anything about that. Because that realization was the real victory. 

So, he fucked girls. Not too often, but often enough to avoid suspicion. And after awhile it was almost normal. Even if the pit in his stomach never really went away. He'd rather have the pit in his stomach than a bullet in his head. 

The first time he let another guy fuck him, it had been a total accident. He'd made a run with his brothers to Indiana. They'd made the drop and had crashed at a friend of a friend's place somewhere in the middle of fucking nowhere.

It was late and Iggy and Jamie were already passed out on the floor and Mickey had lost count of how many beers he'd had. He'd stumbled to the bathroom to take a piss, after having to hold the walls to keep himself upright enough to get there. He turned when he heard the door open, the "What the fuck--" dying on his lips when he saw Jamie's friend in the doorway, shirtless and with his sweatpants hanging low off his hips.

There was a coy smile on his face that made Mickey have to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, but he didn't have time to react before the guy crowded him against the sink and asked if he'd ever sucked cock before. 

Mickey shook his head, unable to find words and not trusting his voice enough not to break should he actually find them, and the guy--he's pretty sure his name was Chris or some shit like that--put a hand on his shoulder and guided him down to the floor. The dude hadn't showered so it was kind of rank, but Mickey got carried away by the power he felt giving pleasure to another man, knowing that the sounds he was making were for and because of him. 

He slid his hand into his jeans and was jerking himself off in time with his mouth until maybe-Chris pulled him off with the hand twisted in his hair. He let himself be bent over the sink, watching in the mirror as he was fucked from behind. He closed his eyes against the pain, but couldn't make himself keep them closed, because if he was going to die for this shit, he was at least going to watch. 

It hurt like hell and the guy wasn't gentle in the least, but he was so loose from the alcohol that it wasn't too bad. He finally had firm hands gripping his hips so hard there were sure to be bruises and a strong, muscled body draped over his back like he'd fantasized about for so many years and it was fucking perfect. He realized real fast that whatshisname wasn't at all concerned with him getting anything out of it, so he reached down and jerked himself until he came across the front of the cabinet with a cry he muffled into his arm. 

The guy finished with a groan he buried into Mickey's shoulder and staggered away. Mickey's heart was pounding so hard and so fast that he felt like he was going to be sick. He went into the living room and lit a cigarette with shaking hands before easing himself down onto a chair. He could feel the ache of being fucked and smiled against his own will.

They left before the guy woke up and hadn't been back since.

When Mickey got home, he fucked a girl a day for a week like somehow it could absolve him of his mortal sin. Even if he never believed he was wrong.

He was what he was. It wasn't some black mark on his character. He was still Mickey the south side hood rat that would rather beat your ass than look at you. He'd built his entire reputation around people being afraid of him, of having people avert their eyes on the street as to not draw attention to themselves. There are a lot of things about Mickey that people didn't know, because they were no one's business but his own.

Past his fourteenth birthday, he'd never hated himself for what he knew he was. He was just scared shitless of what it meant.

He was still Mickey Milkovich: Badass. Which was why when Mandy came home crying about one of the thousand Gallaghers fucking around with her, he took that shit real personal. He might not be able to save himself, but he'd be damned if anyone was going to touch his little sister. 

And even when Mandy gave the order to leave the kid alone, something still didn't sit right with Mickey. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being played somehow. He couldn't risk confronting the kid--Ian--for fear of pissing off Mandy, and his ribs were just starting to heal from the last time he pissed her off and she came after him with her field hockey stick. 

Bitch was fucking crazy. And he was proud that he'd been the one to teach her to swing the stick like that. 

If he could get Ian to start something first, then Mandy wouldn't be able to do shit about it, was Mickey's grand plan. 

So, he spent his days stealing from the place he knew Ian worked with that pansy ass Kash 'n Grab dude, and his plan was going great until it backfired in a huge fucking way by working out exactly like he'd wanted it to. 

He got his confrontation in the form of a pissed off redhead with a tire iron, and he supposes, all things considered, he did actually figure out that Mandy had been lying about Ian being her boyfriend. So it was sort of a win.

And the second time Mickey let somebody fuck him, it had been an accident, too. Only slightly less accidental than last time. 

It was over fast because they were both teenagers and really horny, but Ian had started out slow for Mickey to adjust or whatever and then fucked him into the mattress until he had to bury his face into his pillow so that no one would hear him moaning like a fucking pornstar. Ian even waited until he got off before coming very shortly after and collapsing beside him on the bed like he fucking belonged there. 

And Mickey was happy for just a few seconds. 

There was a moment when his father stopped in the middle of his room and turned to face him, that he was sure he was going to die. He was scared shitless and tensed to fight, but the battle never came and his father staggered drunkenly out the door toward the promise of breakfast, but it brought the reality crashing back into the scene. 

He watched Ian climb out of bed and find his clothes on the floor, and as he watched, he knew that some part of him wanted this, that some part of him (a much bigger part than he was willing to accept) would never be happy with a few quick fucks a year. That some part of him needed to feel connected to another person, wanted to feel connected with the boy moving around his room who fucked him like he mattered. 

He dressed quickly while Ian had his back turned and took the gun from his dresser drawer, tossing it on the bed in a silent acknowledgment that Ian had won. 

And Ian had smiled and leaned forward to kiss him, and Mickey's stomach dropped because he fucking wanted. A kiss felt like a promise or something and he couldn't do it. He couldn't promise this boy anything because what could he possibly have to give him?

When he sat down at the table with his father, he tried to ignore the terror rising up so fast it felt like it would overtake him. He calmed himself with the knowledge that his father wasn't one to drag things out. If he wanted Mickey dead, he'd have been dead already. 

Somehow, it was a comforting thought. 

He was still terrified, because he knew somehow that what had just happened was like opening a Pandora's Box, knew even then that there was no convincing himself it was a one time show. 

What he'd never believe was that one day soon the terror he would feel over losing Ian would outweigh the fear of his father. That one day soon, keeping Ian would be worth risking his life for.


End file.
